


My Bravest Boy

by Liv_andletdie



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Gen, father son relationships mess me up, just a father being sad, lullabys, written as a gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 05:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12162453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liv_andletdie/pseuds/Liv_andletdie
Summary: Based off of HylianHeroLink's fanfic "Here and There" because I was inspired by the relationship between Link and his father.The devastation of the calamity was felt throughout all of Hyrule. From the crystal waters in Zora’s Domain to the snowy peaks of Hebra in the north. The blistering sands of the Gerudo Desert to the molten rivers in Eldin.Everyone lost someone that day.





	My Bravest Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WildlingKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildlingKnight/gifts), [a_geeks_dab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_geeks_dab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Here and There](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392242) by [WildlingKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildlingKnight/pseuds/WildlingKnight). 



The devastation of the calamity was felt throughout all of Hyrule. From the crystal waters in Zora’s Domain to the snowy peaks of Hebra in the north. The blistering sands of the Gerudo Desert to the molten rivers in Eldin. 

Everyone lost someone that day. 

Daughters lost their fathers in the initial fight against the rogue guardians. Husbands and wives became separated and brothers lay where they fell. The once proud order of knights had crumbled in what seemed like seconds. At the center of it all, King Rhoam lay silent. Slain for his kingdom.

And as the screams and cries died out in what was once Castle Town, a new battle was waged at Fort Hateno. A young man stood injured, leaning on his sword. The young girl behind him begged him to leave, to run for his life. And yet, as the machines once built to protect, honed their sights on him, as they powered up and prepared for their final strike, the young man stood tall. 

It was a battle he could never win.  
\---  
Dara sat in the drafty loft of his old house. The wind rushed in through the shutters, carrying whispers and murmurs. Rumors of a battle at the fort, a hundred mechanical monsters and a golden light that could only be the Goddess, seemed to seep in under the door. 

The Calamity was still out there… those things, the guardians, were still patrolling the paths. He hadn’t heard anything from his brothers in Akkala, no letter sent by hawk to tell him how his son was. 

His son. 

The very idea of anything happening to his little boy made the old captain of the guard sick to his stomach. Images of him lying on the ground, limbs twisted to unnatural angles, his shirt stained with blood, kept flashing in front of his eyes. Dara fought them back, his hand twisting in the sheets of the old bed. 

He’d come back to the house when the Apocalypse began. He’s dragged himself through the small gap in the fort, and clambered up the hill sides till he reached home. A small cottage in Hateno village. It was stupid and vain, but Dara had decided years ago that if he was to die, he would die in that house. The last place he heard his wife laugh, the last place he saw his son smile.  
It was empty now. It had been for years. Since he and his son moved out, moved to Castle Town and began a new chapter in their lives, their little cottage had been left gathering dust. Moths had chewed at the curtains and bed sheets leaving little holes. The wood at his feet sang when he stepped on it, and dust motes danced in the air. 

The early morning sun shone through the holes in the curtains, trapping the dust in columns of light. Dara watched, transfixed as they moved. He remembered the way his son would try to catch them, small fists grabbing at the air to hold the tiny flecks. He remembered the way his wife would laugh and sing as she watched their son dance in the light. 

Biting back tears, the old knight turned his head to the window, gazing out across the hills and valleys of Hyrule. In the distance he could see plumes of smoke, great fires set by those beasts. The stench of rotting, burning flesh stung his eyes even from such a distance. 

So many were dead. So many were lost. 

Dara tried not to lose hope, after all, The Princess was still alive. And if the rumors were anything to go by, she had the power of a goddess on her side. And if the Princess was alive then surely…. Surely….oh goddesses Dara prayed that he was right. 

He rested his head in his hands. His hair, slipped through his fingers. He was getting old he knew, slight wrinkles were beginning to show around his eyes. Dragging his hands down over his cheeks he felt the scratch of stubble against his palms. The cheerful giggle of his son wrang in his ears as he remembered how he would pick him up and rub his rough cheek against his skin. The way his boy would yelp and squirm as he was tickled, and the soft complaints he received after. 

He’d always shave after that. His wife prefered it. 

Thoughts of family made his chest ache. The worry settled in the pit of his gut, heavy and solid and unrelenting. He dug around in his pack, checking that he had everything. Emptying the contents onto the bed he counted 10 apples, 3 sets of fresh clothes, 4 hunting knives, 5 pieces of flint, 2 bundles of wood, 2 bows, and a long sword. He’d need to find arrows somewhere, he lamented, but for now it would do. He and Link would leave Hyrule after the Calamity was sealed away. 

There was too much decay in the air to stay. Too many memories now shattered and tainted with the blood of the innocents and the sounds of screams. 

The rivers near Zora’s domain where they would swim, the mountains they would climb, the streets they’d walk and the people they’d meet were all stained red. Buildings and homes crumbled to dust and the lives within them lost. 

Dara shoved everything back into his pack, counting as he went. His hand stilled on a set of clothes, the soft fabric grazing the tips of his fingers. It was one of the sets he packed for Link, a shirt and breeches his wife had made. She’d spent days sewing each individual stitch, making sure that it would be perfect for her boy. 

She’d been on her deathbed by the time it was done. A sickness had seeped into her bones, draining her of life and love. She’d known she hadn’t had long left and had dedicated her final months to making something for her “grown up baby boy” 

She’d never seen Link wear them. 

Link had treasured them, as soon as he was big enough to fit he wore them constantly. His final gift from his mother. Dara could still remember the heartbroken look on his face when he had to throw them away. An accident, a fall from his steed and ripped the leg at the knee and left Link with his first scar. 

That look had stung worse than any electric arrow ever could. 

Dara had carried the clothes with him for months until he found a tailor who could patch the tear. It was going to be a surprise, Link would be so happy to see the clothes once more. The idea of his son, shining and happy and alive, caused the old man’s heart to skip. 

Carefully folding the clothes over his knee, he lay them on top of the pack. Putting the bag at the end of the bed Dara began to pace once more. The wood creaked under his weight, a loud painful cry that echoed throughout the small house. He’d never been good at avoiding the one board that sang, but now as he paced, the constant creak was a comfort. 

The house was too quiet without it, without Link. 

Dara began to tug on the end of his tunic, desperate for something to do, desperate for news on the Calamity, on his son and the Princess. A soft grumble left his stomach and for a second he considered pulling an apple out of the pack and eating it. He stopped himself, reminding himself that the apples were for Link. Baked apple was always a favourite snack they shared. 

Checking out the window once more Dara could see the outline of the castle, a dark and terrifying cloud still hung over the ruins. The very sight made his heart ache with fear. His son was fighting that… that thing!... he must be… or at least making his way towards it. The fear turned cold as he remembered the destruction left in Castle Town, the screams, the cries. 

Link would have to walk through that to get there. He’d have to see the bodies of the people he knew, thrown onto the floor and burnt to a crisp. And those things, they’d still be there, ready to fight and to hurt him. 

But Link would be fine… surely… with the Princess by his side he would prevail… Link would prevail. 

The sound of footsteps snapped Dara out of his thoughts. The steps were light but heavy, just loud enough to make themselves known and carrying terrible news. He raced to the window on the other wall, glancing at the bridge that connected the little house to the rest of the village. 

Two Sheikah, stood on the bridge, Their silver hair contrasting sharply against their dark skin. The blood red of their eyes carried a grief he had seen only when he looked in the mirror. The shorter of the two pushed back a pair of red glasses, her eyes cast an almost scientific gaze over the decrepit house he hid in. She looked like she was searching for something… or someone. 

Dara was fixed to the spot, his boots turning to iron and holding him in place. His legs felt like jelly and he wanted to run. If the Sheikah were here it couldn’t mean anything good. 

The taller of the two walked forward, brushing her knuckles against the solid wood of the door. The sound echoed his pounding heart beat, and he moved like he was in a trance. His body becoming numb as his hand closed around the cold metal handle, pulling the heavy wood towards him. 

He’d never seen a Sheikah up close before. Many knights had, including Link, yet Dara had never had the honour. He’d always been curious to meet them, to see what they were like. The descendants of a once great race, geniuses who had built an army capable of halting the end of the world. And yet now, at the end of all things, when he finally got his chance, he wanted to flee. 

“Sir Dara?” the woman asked, her tone gentle and authoritative. She seemed royal, regal in a way that came naturally. 

“Y-yes” he answered, his knuckles going white around the door handle. “What do you want?” 

The regal sheikah dropped her shoulders, her eyes skimming over the ground at her feet before locking onto his once more. She coughed slightly, to clear her throat or to give herself time to think he wasn’t sure. A nervous, scared, atmosphere seemed to hang over her now. 

“I am Impa” she announced “and this is Purah” the shorter sheikah offered a small wave. Her eyes continued to dart over the rocks and flowers at the front of the house, no longer searching but avoiding. 

“We would like to talk to you” Impa continued “about your son” 

The world went dark, his body went numb, a ringing cry pierced his ears. He didn’t feel as if he was in control anymore, his arms and legs moving of their own accord. He took a step back allowing the two women to enter. Purha bowed her head to him as she passed, a solemn glance shared between them. 

“Where is he?” Dara asked before they could speak. His voice rough and sore as if he had been screaming. Had he been screaming? He couldn’t tell now. 

“Sir it may be best if you sit down-”

“Where is my son?” Maybe he had been screaming? Was he yelling now? He couldn’t tell. 

Impa closed her eyes, murmuring a prayer of strength to herself, a prayer of forgiveness. Purah looked like she was about to cry as she wrung her hands together and shuffled her feet. She cast a glance at Impa, cursing her for putting her in this position. 

“Your son… Link is… dead” she began, ruby eyes shining behind her red rimmed glasses. Dara could feel the air leave his lungs. He clung to the door, desperate to stop himself from collapsing. Outside the rain began to fall, soaking into the ground. Dara could remember a time when Link would play out in the rain, opening his mouth wide to catch falling drops and jumping in the puddles. 

He’d said that the rain was the goddesses crying because they were so happy. 

“He fought valiantly” she continued her voice wavering and shaking “he stayed by the Princess’s side till the end. He was noble and brave and-” 

“I know” He bit, acid climbing up his throat “I know my own son dammit. I know he is noble and brave. I know he is… I know that…” sobs threatened to break free, clogging his throat and sitting on his tongue. 

Impa stepped forward, The red of her eyes was haunting, filled with grief and despair. A shame weighed on her shoulders, threatening to drag her down. He watched as she held out her hand, silently asking him to hold it. Dara looked between the two women, reluctantly folding his palm over hers. 

“Your son sleeps” she breathed, her free hand moving to rest over his. “There is a shrine, on the Great Plateau, designed for such a nightmare as this. We have laid your son there so that he may heal”

“But you said…” Dara’s words died on his tongue. They’d said he was dead, they’d said he was gone, that he’d fought valiantly. Why would they torture him still? Had he angered the goddesses in some way? 

“Purah was correct. Your son, Link, is dead” Impa let out a shaking sigh, a crystal tear traced its way over her cheek “but there is a chance he can be saved. At his final moment, the Princess called for him to rest there, but his recovery will not be swift. Link will sleep, but he may wake up” 

It was too much. Dara fell to his knees shaking, sobs racking his body. He felt Impa kneel in front of him, her hands still wrapped around his. Outside thunder cracked and lightning roared, the rain beat down heavily. The goddesses sobbing for their fallen hero. 

He cried and cried till he could cry no more. Short, painful breaths shook him as he looked up at the two women before him. A single question hung on his lips. 

“How long?” how long must I wait till I can see my son again? How long must I wait before I can tell him I love him? How long must I wait before I can hold him in my arms and tell him how proud I am of him? I’ll wait, no matter how long I’ll wait. He’ll come home, Link will come home. 

“It’s difficult to say” Purah said, kneeling down next to Impa. “We could not power the shrine fully, but… looking at the calculations, it may be 50 years at least” 

Dara dropped his hand from Impa’s, his palms resting on the old wooden floor of the house. His knees ached, his heart ached, his head pounded as he tried to take it all in. 

“50 years?” he repeated, his voice quiet and distant. 

“At the least. And that’s being optimistic… Link… Link was hurt. Badly. It may even take closer to a century to repair the kind of damage caused to his body” 

100 years. 

The old knight dropped his head to the floor between his hands. The wood pressed against his forehead causing an ache that reminded him he was still alive. He was still here. His son was sleeping, close to death but alive. Link would wake up. 

“We recommend that you get somewhere safe” Impa continued “Right now the Princess is fighting alone, holding the beast at bay. You must continue, it isn’t safe to stay in this house-”

“Take me to him” he begged, fresh tears falling onto the floor “let me see my son” 

Impa met Purah’s gaze, the sisters shared a look of understanding. They had carried him, through the doorway and up the hill, past the Temple of Time and the Abbey that sat to the east. Both of them knew the extent of Link’s injuries. The burns and cuts staining his clothes a deadly and heartstopping red. They had stripped him to let him rest, they had seen him broken, his legs twisting at awkward angled, his chest and back wet with blood, and the large wound that traced around his side. It curved over his hip, reaching past his ribs. Ribs that were most certainly shattered. Even Robbie had looked mournful as he gazed upon the broken body of the hero. Now nothing more that a young man killed too soon. 

They couldn’t put Dara through that. They couldn’t make his last memory of his son be of his broken body, submerged to his cheeks in water. A shell of the person he used to be. 

“That’s not possible” Impa said, trying to sound apologetic “the shrine is already sealed and it won’t be opened until he is ready. Until then, we suggest that you leave this house-”

Dara snapped his head up, a crazed agonized look in his eyes. He reminded the Matriarch of a wounded animal, hurt and dying but still determined to fight. His tear streaked face was twisted with grief, a pain and a loss that only a father could bare. She was about to pull away, to distance herself from the shaking sobbing man in front of her, when his hands reached out a grabbed her wrists. 

Purah moved to get between them, to defend her sister. But Impa caught her eye telling her silently that the knight on his knees was no threat. His grip was to lose, his heart to big and broken, his eyes to bright. 

“Take me to my son” he begged again, blue eyes flashing with agony. And for a single heart shattering second, the man in front of her became a young boy once more. The image of a hero, a double of Link. 

“Bring a weapon, it won’t be an easy trek”  
\---  
The walk to the Great Plateau was a long and arduous walk. Monsters and Guardians blocked the way at every turn, the scuttling mechanical footsteps put Dara on edge as he followed the two sheikah through the remains of Fort Hateno. The Guardian’s lay silent, their lights dead, their limbs unmoving. Yet something about the area made his uncomfortable. 

“This is where they made their stand” Impa had said, not wanting to give him time to gaze at the once living machines. It had been cryptic to him, but staring at a spot on the grass, stained red so heavily that even the rain could not wash it away, he knew. 

He had pulled his hood over his head and made to follow the sisters once more.  
\---  
The Great Plateau had been constructed centuries ago, pockets of water underground had caused the rocks to fall away, leaving only a section of land surrounded on all sides by steep and terrifying cliffs. The crown had funded a project to gain access to the land and the historical monuments that sat atop. A grand wall had been erected to protect the surrounding towns from landslides, and a doorway had been carved into the rock to serve as an entrance. 

It was this entrance that the Sheikah led him through. 

He followed shakily, terrified at what he may find at the end of the path. Oh what he may see lying where his son should be. His boots felt like lead as he tried to keep silent behind the Sheikah. Near the temple of Time he could see more of those things. Lifeless guardians clinging to the ancient stone of the building. 

Purah tugged him along by the back of his collar, sticking close to the trees until they were out of the range of their lasers. The two followed Impa on the path up the hill, makeshift wooden steps had been dug into the ground in order to held their ascent. Dara hung back as Impa and Purah opened the door to the shrine, suddenly petrified. 

The doors opened up to a dark hallway, a faint blue light shone against the walls. Ancient and intricate patterns coming to life under the subtle glow. Dara held his travel pack tighter to his chest, the long sword felt heavy against his back. Purah gave him a reassuring glance as he climbed down into the pathway. 

Neither Sheikah would follow. It was not their place. 

His footsteps echoed against the walls making him feel claustrophobic. He turned and glanced at the last vestiges of sunlight through the small entrance way. He could remember sitting by the lake near their house, Link settled between his legs as they watched the setting sun together. The stars would dance and Link would scramble to name each and every constellation he saw. Though as a young boy Link would make up his own names, on the rare occasions that they found time to be together after his appointment, Link would teach him the scientific names. 

They were some of Dara’s most precious memories. 

A heavy sadness settled in his stomach as he realised he would never hear his son list of their made up names again. 

Turning harshly from the light, he continued down the path. His blood pounded in his ears as he walked, his heart jumping painfully in his chest. The travelers pack he carried began to feel heavy, causing his arms to shake. But he didn’t slow down, even as he came to the door, he never slowed down. 

And at last he found it. His son’s resting place. 

The blue light bathed the room. Black stone, carved with intricate patterns loomed over him. He felt like he was drowning, his eyes tracing around the edges of the room, trying to avoid the large tomb in the center. 

The bed looked like a crib. High walls cradling the broken body of a would be hero. Dara couldn’t see well from his place at the door, but if he tilted his head just slightly, he could see the faint golden light of his sons hair. 

A sickness ran through his bones as he dropped the pack to the floor. The apples and flint scattered around the room as he ran towards his son, his little boy, his brave hero. Dara fell to his knees at the side of the bed, his heart stopping in his chest. 

Link lay before him, submerged in water. The blue lights were stronger here, washing everything in a cold and clinical hue. He tried not to let his eyes wander over the scars that littered his skin, he tried not to think about how painful it must have been, he tried not to linger on the burn that curled over his son’s hip or the long haggard slash across his chest. 

Instead, the father tried to focus only on his son’s beautiful face, seemingly spared from the brunt of the attack. Though his nose was now crooked and his ears were torn, it was still the same face. It was still the same Link. 

Until now, Dara had refused to believe it. A small part of him had denied any possibility that his son, his brave and wonderful son, could have fallen so young. They had no proof! It could have been anyone’s boy. 

His eyes caught on a small scar at his knee. Memories of that day in the rain, of watching Link fire from the top of his horse, the immense pride that bloomed in his heart as he saw his child grow. And the fear as his son toppled from the mount, the sight of his knee, fresh with blood and dirt and gravel. 

It was all the proof he needed. 

With a shaking hand, Dara cupped his son’s cheek. Stunned at how cold he was already. He ran a thumb over the top of his cheekbone, grazing over the small innocuous scars he found there. He could feel the tears rising, the tightness at the back of his throat. 

“Oh Link” he breathed, vainly hoping that his son would wake up “what have they done to you?” 

The silence was deafening, suffocating, and heavy. He felt like he could barely move, frozen to the spot, kneeling next to his son. He could remember doing this when he was a child. Stroking his cheek as his mother sang him to sleep. She’d always had a lovely voice. She’d always been better at singing than he was. Every time he had tried Link had scrunched up his nose in a funny way that showed he was upset. Mother was the only one allowed to sing. And after she passed… 

Dara cleared his throat. Impa had said that he was sleeping yes? Link had always had trouble falling asleep. A Lullaby would help surely. And with a shaking, warm voice, reserved for kissing scraped knees and fond farewells, the old sad knight opened his heart to sing. 

_“Hush my child,_  
Hush my son,  
Sleep for now the day is done 

_You’re so brave,_  
Kind and strong,  
We will love you our whole lives long 

_One day soon you will awake,_  
Under the Goddesses loving gaze,  
And when you open your tired eyes,  
May you know my face? 

_I’ll be gone,_  
But don’t you fret,  
Let the daylight guide you from your bed 

_She is waiting,_  
Dressed in white,  
A Goddess of love to hold you tight, 

_She will hold you,_  
When I can’t,  
But know this please,  
I… I...I would have given anything not to part” 

“My Bravest Boy” he sighed, letting the tears flow freely as he lowered his forehead to Link’s “I’m so sorry, if only I could have helped you”  
\---  
Impa and Purah stood in the cold, guarding the entrance to the shrine. The world was silent except for the agonizing cries of a father mourning his son.

**Author's Note:**

> are you crying? I'm crying. Also Lullaby's are hard to write! I have a newfound respect for poets 
> 
> A shoutout to Jay and Leo, without you two this fic wouldn't have happened. Leo, thank you for writing such a beautiful fic (everyone go read it) and Jay, thank you for giving me the idea and the motivation to write it.


End file.
